Probably the only time I can use it in its proper context.

MPS should be thanking his fucking lucky stars that I didn’t take all his gifts back after what happened yesterday. But I will be all benevolent and shit and supervise the traditional burning of the toast, rubberizing of the eggs and watering down of the coffee. Culminating in the annual throw the shit that was bought at the Fathers Day stall in his general direction and eat the cookies that were lucky to make it so long and then wander off while I give him his real gifts.

Get your mind out of the gutter. It is not his birthday.

Then we will spend the day at MOTY’s place setting up an Apple TV for my Daddy, MPS will try to find a comfortable sitting position* while I desperately try not to vomit at the smell and sight of a leg of lamb.

(yeah, I have some serious food issues. Don’t even get me started on soft boiled eggs… *bile rises*)

At some point we will probably Skype The Golden Child as it is his 40th birthday. Yeah, fucker was born on Fathers Day.

I never stood a chance.

I am pretty sure watching Pulp Fiction when we get home is a given.

What does Fathers Day look like at your place?

*totes need to fill ya’ll in. In the words of The Mad Monk ‘all in good time’

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We dragged the Feral Teen to the local market where I graciously allowed the spouse to buy many plants for the garden (aren’t I generous?) now they’ve gone off to Do Manly Things at Chaddy (not Manly, NSW) like picking out some Doctor Who shit, Transformers stuff, Captain Morgan rum, and possibly a coffee for moi.

My dad is so stubborn, he refuses to go out for breakfast, lunch or dinner for Father’s Day. That’s ok by me as I hate going out for Mother’s Day. We’re also not allowed to spend (or his words, waste) too much money on him. So Dad will be getting the book that I bought him online a few weeks ago, wrapped up. And when tween boy gets home for HIS dad’s this afternoon, the present that was bought for him at the Father’s Day stall. I offered yet again for the billionth time to make Dad breakfast, the joys of sharing a house with your parents, and apparently I don’t make toast the way he likes it. Pfft, whatevs.